


reap what you sow

by lucid_lies



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Creampie, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Pollen, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22275910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucid_lies/pseuds/lucid_lies
Summary: It beings, as most things on a desert planet do, with a fight for survival.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 233





	reap what you sow

It beings, as most things on a desert planet do, with a fight for survival. 

She stalked him back from the sandcrawler, slow-moving and laden with re-gifted parts. Keeping her distance but never losing sight of the group as she kept to long cast shadows and rocky crags.

She’d almost given up hope when his ship finally came into view, a gleaming dot on the horizon. The _Razor Crest_ had seen better days, picked to the bones by greedy little scavengers. 

Waiting, watching for the opportune moment from her vantage point. 

He dismounted the blurrg, motions brisk and single-minded as he dragged a tarp of parts behind him into the belly of the ship, saying something over his shoulder to the Ugnaught. The little one rested in the shade beside the hangar door, high pitched chirrups bouncing off the monoliths and echoing through the valley while it scooped up sand and threw it to the wind. 

The stab of guilt that followed was short-lived.

It’s been a day since she ran out of water, and even longer without food. The arid desert was harsh. The unforgiving sun drained, weakened her until she shook with hunger.

Tongue tacky, glued to the roof of her mouth, sour taste on her lips; she won’t last very much longer.

If it’s not the desert, then it’ll be the other inhabitants.

Pretty soon she won’t have the strength to defend herself but it’s starve or steal, live or die. The evidence surrounds her, old bleached bones appearing and disappearing with the ever-shifting dunes.

There is no room for miracles in this wasteland.

Besides, she doubts he’s hurting.

There’s no way she wouldn’t recognize that armor. The fabled Mandalorian would have money to spare, no shortage of bounties to collect. A little food and water would be nothing but scraps to a man like him but it would mean absolutely everything to her.

So she watches and she waits and she plans.

Only when push comes to shove…

He proves much more keen than she gave him credit for.

She’s a pretty damn good fighter, proud to say she can hold her own. Maybe it’s because of honed skills, maybe she’s a step to slow, sluggish and off her game or maybe it’s something else entirely but he gets the upper hand (though not before she sneaks in a surprise of her own).

The world is a kaleidoscope of colour as her skull bounces off the metal wall with a loud crack, air rushing from her lungs. The world muffles, her stomach rolling as pain sparks quick and bright.

Something rattles loose, her teeth too large for her mouth, tongue too thick. A gloved hand fits around her throat like a collar, fingers a warning against the tender flesh of her jugular. 

But it’s okay because the amatory agent should be kicking in soon and then she’ll high tail it out of here with what she needs. 

The Mandalorian snarls, voice fire-water rough as he keeps her pinned face first, “Who are you?”

He reminds her of an agitated cat, every edge harsh and unyielding. Then again, she is trying to steal from him. 

“Doesn’t matter.” She slurs out, glaring at him from over her shoulder through wet eyes. “I’ll be out of here soon enough.”

He remains unmoved, impassive as he crowds close. 

“And why is that?” He asks. “If you think you can buy your freedom, think again.”

She raises her brows, a strange half-smile tugging at her lips.

A wry scoff. The line of his shoulders soften. Good. He’s relaxing. Thinks he’s got the upper hand. 

Right where she wants him. 

_Any minute now._

She knows the moment it kicks in. 

He goes rigid behind her, his grip tightening. He hovers, crowds close, the firmness of his armor sinking into her back as he presses them together from sternum to ass. A thick boot kicks apart her feet, his thigh slotting into the empty space between her legs. 

Heart jumping into her throat, she attempts to shove back at any part of him she can reach. This was not a part of the plan by a long shot. Her big get away’s supposed to happen while he’s incapacitated with lust. 

The cap of his knee nudges her clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying her body. Biting down on a sob, her teeth sink into her bottom lip until a bead of blood wells to the surface.

“H-Hey!”

“Mm, that smell…”

No amount of squirming loosens his grip. 

“I’m sorry, okay!” Her throat bobs against his palm. “How - how about you let me go and we forget all about this?”

Ignoring the pleas, his head ducks down and settles into the space behind her ear. The sound of a deep inhale, the expansion of his chest against her back, pressed together so firmly she’s not sure they won’t fuse together.

The rough, low groan he releases does wicked things, shivers racing down her spine. The hot slide of his body makes her ache, cunt throbbing dully as he continues to circle his thigh. There’s no way he can’t feel her reaction, how quickly she’s getting wet. 

This failed mission just turned into a confusing cluster of shame and lust, embers of desire smouldering low in her belly. She hates how much this is getting to her. 

The brutal shackle around her throat loosens, suddenly easier to breathe. Trembling, whether from panic, fear, arousal or a jumbled mess of all three, all she can do is stay crushed between the warm line of his body and the ship, completely at the Mandalorian’s mercy. 

He speaks again, more animal than voice, “Yield.” 

She has to be very careful with what she says and does. 

“Don’t make me say it again,” he warns. “You won’t like the outcome.” 

Making a quick decision, she tilts her head to the side as an offering of submission, albeit temporarily. A low, soft sound escapes when she sinks back into the firm wall of his chest. 

Play the role, and then when he gives her an inch, she’ll take a mile right out of this blasted ship. 

A hum, deeply pleased, sounds from behind. He whispers, voice fever hot and thick, “You like this.”

The strong thigh keeping her legs apart nudges up, spreading her folds. She gasps.

“Don’t you?”

Heat creeps up her chest to settle in her cheeks and she turns her face away. Does her absolute best to ignore the uncomfortable pulse of her core. “That’s not, I don’t– a-ah!”

A hand in her hair yanking back cuts her off.

“You can’t hide how wet you’re getting, little thief.”

Her heartbeat’s in time with the throb of her cunt, inner thighs uncomfortably sticky with slick. Her eyes burn, her throat aches and worst of all, she feels filthy, wrong, guilty for liking this as much as she does. 

Feels even guiltier for letting this get so out of hand, for letting the Mandalorian do this to her. Would he still want her like this if he wasn’t under the influence of aphrodisiacs?

She’s at a loss.

Before she can figure out another way to weasel her way out of this mess, the presence at her back withdraws. When he speaks, the metallic feedback does nothing to disguise the rough grit of his voice. 

“Get on your knees.”

Now’s her chance to get out of dodge but when she glances back, all the air rushes from her lungs. In all his glory, standing back several paces with his legs spread wide, his erection plain as day is a living legend. 

She never thought she’d get to see one let alone meet one (no matter how unfortunate the circumstances). Something washes over her then, and she finds herself sinking to his feet.

He hums in approval. 

Surrounded by the heady scent of sweat, warm metal, and sunbaked leather, she swallows roughly, head swimming pleasantly. The power, the lust radiating from him has her swooning.

The firm muscles of his hips contract beneath her palms, shoving into her touch as she grabs the waistline of his trousers. She wets her lips and looks up at him from beneath her lashes. Her reflection stares back at her from the ferrofluid visor. 

While his expression is unreadable, the movements of his helmet let her know he’s laser-focused, greedily tracking the swipe of her tongue as she kneels for him.  
  
“I’m not sure…”

He offers no council or reassurances, reaching out to tug impatiently at the back of her head. They both know this is happening no matter what. He’s fully under the plant’s thrall and she…well, there’s no denying how turned on she is, even though she feels like she shouldn’t be.

This is probably a horrible idea. 

But it’s been forever and a day since she’s felt anything other than her own touch. Whether it be a bone-deep loneliness she’s been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable human need for contact, she longs for a reminder that she’s still alive. Not some wraith of the wastelands filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fall. 

_Fuck it_ , she thinks, popping open the button.

His groan of relief reverberates throughout her body, his trousers taut around his knees. He’s bare beneath, his flushed cock springing out to slap against his tunic. Precum draws lines in the fabric following the throb of his shaft, the slit already oozing. 

She grips the base and appreciates the picture he makes. 

Who would have thought beneath all that heavy armor, he’d be packing this much. Uncut, so girthy her fingers can’t wrap all the way around with a thick vein running along the underside. It’s the prettiest cock she’s seen in years and it lights a fire in her. 

Mouth watering, she can’t wait to get her tongue on him, to feel the weight, to taste the salt of his skin, to feel the slide of his shaft as he fucks into the circle of her lips. 

Wanting to draw it out because kriff knows when she’ll get another opportunity like this, she licks along the swollen head, salt bursting sharp across her tongue. Humming low in her throat, her lips vibrate with the motion, the sound muffled obscenely by his cock.

“Stop playing around,” he grunts, hips stuttering. “And suck.”

Any plans she had about teasing him mercilessly are shot to hell when gloved hands knot themselves in her hair. Thumbs slide down to dig into her jaw. The pain forces her to open wider as the Mandalorian guides her forward, sheathing himself within the moist heat of her mouth. 

She gags when the tip bumps the roof of her mouth, her throat fluttering. Breathing hard through her nose, she relaxes as best she can, bracing herself for what comes next. 

The pace he sets is relentless.

Forcing himself down her throat until his pelvis grinds into her nose. Saliva pools under her tongue, a warm flush spreading from deep in her belly to between her thighs at the sloppy sounds of him fucking her face echoing through the ship. 

Jaw aching, tears carve through the dust on her cheeks, liquid fire pumping through her veins as she encourages him with her hands on his hips, urging him faster, harder until he’s completely feral with it. Clenches her thighs to find some respite from the throbbing of her cunt.

She’s never felt like this before, like her skin is too tight to contain everything she’s feeling. Stretched taut, desperate, about to snap under the pressure. He hasn’t even touched her, and she’s already needy with want. 

A hand cups her jaw, thumb hooking into the corner of her mouth, stretching her lips wider around the shaft.

“You’re taking me so well,” he says, whisper soft and full of heat. 

Moaning, she slips a hand into her pants.

Fingers brushing over the soaked front of her underwear, clit throbbing, electricity racing down her spine as she starts playing with her folds, teasing her entrance with firm fingertips. 

“Such a filthy little thief.” Chuckling, Mando cradles the back of her skull, his hips rutting forward particularly hard just to hear her gag. “You’re as bad as the hookers on Keyorin.”

“Fmhk you.”

Incensed but not willing to stop, his words spur her on to keep pace. Her tongue dances along the slit, flicking over the heavy vein. His length throbs, pulses on her tongue. Grunts fall from his mouth in a steady stream, his touch getting rougher, hips snapping forward with more force, the tang of salt stronger. 

She’s not far off but getting off on her own fingers isn’t as satisfying as being stuffed with cock nor would it be enough to fully satisfy that itch that begs to be scratched.   
  
“Please…”

She pulls off with a wet gasp, abused throat burning with every drag of air, head pounding, voice raspy, well used. Hands already reach for her when she evades his touch, looking up through damp lashes. 

“Please…”

His head tilts, his own voice stormy, rough with displeasure at the interruption. “Please what?”

“More,” she pleads. “I need more, need you.”

The silence that follows spells nothing but trouble, his hands fisting hard at his sides, chest heaving, the slightest of trembles rocking the broad width of his shoulders. 

Perhaps he’s warring against the effects of the pollen, still has some manner of control that’s so close to snapping but he’s trying to reign himself in. Either way, she loves every fucking second, seeing a living legend brought down to his baser instincts by a common criminal like her. 

Bending down, he wraps his hands around her hips and hoists her into his arms. Removing her trousers in record time, he cages her against the wall with one hand while the other tugs her undergarments to the side. Air dances across her tender flesh. Head rolling back, she sighs in pleasure. 

It’s the only warning she gets before the fat head of his cock teases her entrance, slipping between wet folds. Jerking in his hold, she whines and tries to bear down with all her weight.

His grip remains firm, bruising. 

“Mando.” She squirms. “Mando, come on.”

“Who’s my little thief?” He asks. 

Pressed chest to chest, she feels every hard ridge of armor bite into the softness of her body, gauzy desert fabrics doing nothing against sturdy leather and metal. Her nipples drag across his chest plate, zings of pleasure shooting through her.

“Mando!”

“Go on, say it.” His fingers squeeze her sides. “Or I walk away and turn you in.”

She scowls, wishing, not for the first time, to smack him.

“You wouldn’t be able to even if you tried,” she says. “I know the pollen’s still in your system.”

“Is that a chance you really want to take?” 

_No, no it is not._

“Yours…”

The unexpected flare of satisfaction filled heat in his voice is almost her undoing. “Again,” he demands, nudging forward. 

Her soft walls give way under the hard pressure of his cock, stretching to accommodate his girth. The amount of slick allows him to glide in, sheathed to the base, filling her cunt to the brim. 

Crying out, her hands fly up to clutch at his lithe shoulders, anchoring herself as much as she can to keep him inside. She aches, a sweet low burning tightness creeping out from her lower belly.

Every throb, every twitch has her toes curling, nearly mad with desperation. She grinds against him, working herself along his shaft to the best of her ability. 

“I’m your little thief. Yours, yours, yours,” she near sobs, sweaty forehead leaning against the glimmering metal covering his own. “Now, please do something. I can’t take anymore.”

Thankfully, it seems like he can’t either because he pulls out only to thrust back in deep. Keening, her head falls back, thighs trembling as the drag of him against her walls sets her nerves ablaze. 

A finger brushes the curve of her cheek, traces the open circle of her mouth, dusts along the wisps of her eyelashes, outlining her slack-jawed expression with pride. 

A moment of tenderness in a sea of liquid fire. 

“You’re taking me so well.”

She whines, “Mando…”

With a grunt, he surges forward, wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles her bones, drives her hard into the side of the ship. She can’t do much of anything except hold on. 

His pelvis grinds into hers, her swollen clit against his belly as his cock pistons back and forth, driving into the warmth of her body over and over again. His head rests on her shoulder, grunts a steady stream through the modulator as he fucks her hard and fast. 

“F-Fuck!” 

Squeezing her thighs around his hips, she tries to keep pace with limited success, instead turning her focus to feeling him up as much as possible. Her hands map out his back, feeling the shift of muscles beneath all that heavy fabric. 

He must be dying beneath all of that but she doesn’t reach to undress him any more than she already has. He’s in an altered state and it would be so easy if she didn’t find the very idea deplorable. 

She satisfies herself with tugging his head towards hers, pressing a smudged kiss to the side of his helmet. Warm metal on her tongue. “Right there, please don’t stop, I’m so close.”

Cursing so low she can’t pick it up, Mando rams forward, reaching all the right spots that leave her a whining mess. Every flex is a punch to the gut. 

“Cum for me.”

It takes less than half a thrust before she gushes around him, drenching his trousers in her fluids. Her head bounces off the wall, hands clutching his head to her chest as she shatters apart. 

The fire that’s been steadily building in her stomach flares, going supernova and scorching her insides. Leaves her trembling, gasping. Mando rumbles approvingly, refusing to stop, fucking her roughly through her orgasm. 

She sags, boneless, aftershocks tingling along her limbs. Overstimulation has her whimpering, twitching, hands numb. The sloppy wet sounds of his cock pounding into her echo around them. 

The head drags along her g-spot, her clit twitching pathetically. There’s no kriffing way she can cum again, feels wrung out, ridden hard and put away sore and wet. 

It needs to end before he breaks her. 

She groans. “Mando.” Chewing on her bottom lip, she stares at where she imagines his eyes to be. “Mando, fill me up.”  
  
“Fuck.” 

The grip on her thighs tightens to the point of pain, his fingers digging in and marking her up. 

“Take it, it’s all for you.” 

He shoves forward brutally and then stills in a near-silent exaltation of absolute relief as he lets go. She moans in appreciation, revelling in the novel feeling of cum pumping into her, flooding her womb. 

She never realized how much she missed sex until now. The taste, the sounds, the mess. She’ll be feeling it tomorrow. Every time she sits down, she’ll throb in discomfort, thinking about this exact moment. 

It’ll keep her warm during cold desert nights for many months. 

When she sneaks away after he promptly falls comatose after noting the absence of the little one and the Ugnaught, she takes what she came for but leaves behind a simple note that reads, “ _I’m sorry. Who knows, maybe someday we’ll meet again and I can repay you._ ”


End file.
